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Friday, July 29, 2011

Our hike in Penang Hill went on after begging the pardon before squeezing ourselves through two chatting rocks. I never meant to poke into their affair, but had somehow overheard that my family were the only hikers who took up this part of hiking trail.

The trail is actually narrow with grasses overgrown at certain areas, rutted, steep and slippery at the others. We might confront with downhill bikers who were riding down the slopes. That was sure adventurous and fun, but it was a thin but long snake that tangled and hung from tree branches that made our adrenaline rush; it kept calm, we never seemed to be.

We were crazy also to climb the mossy stairs that went parallel with a drain, where the trek occasionally hid from us under thick fallen leaves; we were needed to climb over fallen trees, and to get out from entangled twigs and branches, only to find a bee that had been waiting for me for a morning; it waited for a morning, but needed just a couple of seconds to complete a "say cheese" session.

When zooming in, I saw lines of words in its eye: "Have you used to feeling like the old rubber press: Old, unused, and forgotten?"

"No, I am not as old, but am developing my eccentricities to be as remarkable when getting older."

Monday, July 25, 2011

I continued and had then spent a four-hour round trip in Penang Hill, a hill with an elevation of about 833m, a figure that is insignificant if talking about touching the moon.

Along my way, I met a hundred-year old mushroom that never bothered to open its mouth for stories. I observed layers of the charcoal-black body, or were those the mouths of the mushroom that had talked so much, so were now unable to close back?

Nevertheless, an abandoned rubber press machine reminded me about the past glory of this place; it talked about someone like James Scott, David Brown, and Francis Light. I know Francis Light as the founder of Penang; I asked again, and understood that the other two were British merchants who grew also nutmegs, cloves, peppers and strawberries. David Brown’s descendants brought in rubber trees later.

At the end of a brief history, I was stopped from taking a detour to beyond a bend. A signboard said: Beware of dog- a David Brown’s dog?

Thursday, July 21, 2011

What did I chirp in reply to a bird last Sunday morning? I told I came from Cerok Tokun Hill, some 34km away with PenangBridge in between. Arriving there without a strong pair of wings sure was a problem.

Penang Bridge in the background

The conversation never escaped the ears of Penang Hill. "I see, you called that girl Cerok Tokun Hill.”

This big brother took a pause while rubbing my shoulders with some tall grasses, and continued, “It is hazy right now. I’ll date her later.”

And its words lingered in the air, within the trees, when breeze passing. The girl might have already overheard that,

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I thought I was a scouting soldier when looking at these soldier termites, but if starting a war, I might not be the winner; further more, a forest is indeed their respectful territory for not to be disturbed.

I rather be myself, or I may likely lost in the midst of libraries of books again dreaming that I am an intellectual too. I am still myself even years of talking to bugs and trees.

I never grow an enlarged jaw like soldier termites do, and never be as blind as them. When looking into the mirror, I am very much enjoy and comfortable to be Rainfield- a little gaga old man.

Goosebumps seemed to grow to the number of termites on my body. I watched my steps for not landing myself onto the nest, and for not being fastened to the ground, as had happened to Gulliver, in 1726; the termites were then the Lilliputians who were no taller than 6 inches.

I come and I go. I shall be influenced and changed unobtrusively and imperceptibly.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

I was definitely not right to have told you that all bugs have left for the moon. Those who stayed in skyscrapers, I found out, seemed to not be concerned at all. The skyscrapers stood up so strong and brave to say No to mowers.

A spider, as tiny as a grain of rice, was seen showing off on a tightrope and without a balance pole. Is this the other reason that made it stay? And this type of so called show-off normally happens during young, and we get very hesitant with age.

On the contrary, do you think this tightrope walking is real thrilling? I do not think so, but many of us pay to scream when watching thriller films, and that is loud enough to deafen one another. A movie is still a movie. It is worse still if your boss happens to be one of the audiences, I am sorry, though sorry is the hardest word, he will hear and response to any complaints or requests no more.

By the way, if one of the legs slips, the spider is still safe with another seven. Please, don’t scream. Murmur like me.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

You do not see, because I did not find, any bugs this morning. The grasses were trimmed short, as short as the hairs of my Poodle. The bugs left like the fleas, maybe for the moon. Say hi when you see black dots on the moon, but not all of them are visible, for it is a crescent moon these few days.

Stay focus, you may hear them singing too.

These are the pictures I took last week. I squatted down like always, waited quietly for them to emerge, one by one, when they began to think that I was just a rock, a rock that would not roll. A rolling rock not only rolls over mosses, it smashes bodies of bugs along the way.

The meadow was as busy as a market place. That was last week. I shall see these bugs again. I am sure! They love the earth where life is colorful. The moon is only yellow all the time, or whitish yellow, orangish yellow and yellowish yellow, that’s all.

I love our earth too. I never plan to migrate.

And I am having acrophobia; what will happen to me at a height of 406,700 km above the earth?

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

It was a busy morning over in the meadow: A grasshopper hopped recklessly as it sensed an approaching earthquake. A butterfly flew restlessly as the nectar smelled sweaty and stinky. A bee hammered its head relentlessly against a weed flower; it stung itself after missing the target.

“Go away.” The protest came back. I then understood that I was not that hateful. There was some sort of gadfly nearby an ant.

I assumed the role of Superman to help fighting the villain away.

The ant was in turn busy in action, busy showing off under the flashlights.

Everybody was very busy, everybody was busy not for own self, and nothing seemed to ever get done in a busy morning.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

It turned a spider into gold, only the later failed to know how precious it was. It trapped the spider in amber, but again the later was lost to know how historical it could be. This day was just another day to a spider, but the morning light is always magical.

And if you are an early bird, please do not prey on spiders, make the situation and moment a whole eternity. The ignorant spiders will survive. They will survive as the morning light is magical.

The morning light is always magical. I might also be either gold or amber at that moment. Can someone show me my pictures?

Maybe the forest spirits can, because the morning light is always magical.